


keep on haunting

by inkk



Series: alphabet AU challenge [8]
Category: Bandom, Of Mice & Men (Band)
Genre: Character Undeath, Ghosts, Halloween, Not Really Character Death, One Shot, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 10:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4743524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkk/pseuds/inkk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>H</b> is for <b>Haunted</b>.</p><p>(In which Austin is alive and Alan, well... isn't.)</p><p>Pусский (Russian): <a href="https://ficbook.net/readfic/5772400">кликните сюда</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	keep on haunting

**Author's Note:**

> **IMPORTANT: i didn't list 'major character death' or 'graphic descriptions of violence' as a warning for this because i felt like that would give the wrong idea, but i feel like you should still be aware of the fact that this is a death-centric fic and there is mentions of stabbing n stuff
> 
> story title comes from the song 'Haunting' by Halsey.  
> enjoy! :)
> 
> (this work has been translated into russian [ here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5772400)!)

+

 

 

Screaming, then faint sirens. 

 

 

Who's screaming?

Oh, right. It's him.

 

 

Light. Muffled voices. Blood everywhere. It hurts.

 

 

Then:

Dark. 

Everything is so dark. It's so omnipresent and smothering he can't see, can't hear or speak or even breathe as it pours down his throat like cold silk and fills his lungs.

 

 

Bright - too bright.

 

 

Then:

Nothing.

 

 

An eon passes. 

There are voices. 

 

For the first time in a long time, Alan feels cold air upon his skin.

 

\+ + +

 

"Where do you want this?" Tino asks, heaving a moderately-sized cardboard box through the front door and balancing it on his knee to peek inside. "It says 'Christmas Shit' on the side, but I think it looks more like cooking supplies."

Austin waves a nonplussed hand. "Just set it down wherever."

"Kitchen it is," Tino rolls his eyes, walking past him as Aaron comes bounding down the stairs.

"This house is _amazing_ ," he says, sighing happily. "I think I'm in love. The upstairs office even has a window seat! And just you wait until I get my hands on these drapes, it's going to look like something straight out of a magazine--"

Austin generally tends to tune out about now; he doesn't really have the heart to tell Aaron to stop talking, but listening to him rant about emerald throw pillows for a week solid can get exhausting (to say the least). "I'm gonna go, um, help Phil move that mattress in the guest room," he hedges, quickly slipping up the stairs before Aaron an ask his opinion on teal as a secondary accent colour or something. (He questions what he was thinking when he gave Aaron permission to decorate his new house.)

Austin reaches the first landing and furtively glances around before slipping into the nearest room, which turns out to be his new bedroom. He feels guilty about not helping out more with the unpacking - seeing as it's his house - but still can't help being relieved by the peace and quiet.

Austin sits down on the hardwood floor, slumping exhaustedly against the wall. His sigh seems to echo in the empty room.

Suddenly, there's a faint thump and a scratchy, shuffling sound from the opposite wall.

"Phil?" Austin calls, "Is that you?"

 

\+ + +

 

It's light, inside the room. 

 

Everything is blurry and Alan is bored. His legs feel weird and tingly when he tries to sit cross-legged.

 

 

Then:

A voice, floating towards him like sunlight through calm water.

 

"Phil? Is that you?"

 

There's someone inside the room with him, but Alan's voice refuses to cooperate. His vision is so blurry it hurts his head. 

Dimly, he registers the muffled sound of footsteps.

"W-wait," he finally manages to croak out, his voice thin and raspy from - days? months? years? - of disuse. "Wait!"

But he's too late. The door closes, and he's alone again.

 

Always so alone.

 

\+ + +

 

Austin exits the bedroom, closing the door behind him and mentally shaking himself.

 

For a second there, he could have sworn he heard a voice.

 

\+ + +

 

"I hate to be a buzzkill, but we should probably start driving home if we want to get to work tomorrow," Phil eventually says a few more hours, once they've pretty much done the brunt of the unpacking.

It's dark outside by now - with a shock, Austin checks his phone and realizes it's already eleven thirty. "Oh shit, yeah. Thank you guys so much for coming down and helping me out."

They all grab their coats and say their goodbyes, hugging him before heading out into the biting autumn night air with promises to come back and help decorate the next weekend.

After waving them off and locking the front door, an urgent, uneasy prickling begins to needle at the back of Austin's neck as he wearily makes his way upstairs. It only intensifies as he opens the door to his new bedroom.

Feeling paranoid, he warily looks around, pulling the blinds down over the window and stripping as quickly as he possibly can before sliding into his sleeping bag on the hardwood floor. 

(He tells himself he'll finish assembling the bed up tomorrow morning.)

 

\+ + +

 

Alan can't believe his luck.

 

Right in front of him, only mere feet away, a man is sleeping.

 

Alan watches with enraptured focus; his vision has returned enough to be able to see a small peek of tattooed skin, but his limbs still feel unresponsive and heavy and so doesn't dare to draw any closer lest he should wake the man. Even from all the way across the room, he can feel soothing waves of his body heat and hear his deep, steady breathing.

 

For the first night in a long time, he's not alone.

 

 

\+ + +

 

By the time Austin wakes up at seven-thirty the next morning and makes his way downstairs to put on a pot of coffee, the disconcerting prickly feeling has dissipated into a vague tickle.

He sits outside and drinks his coffee on the front porch, idly watching the neighbourhood kids walk to school and making plans to walk to the local grocery store - it's Friday, but he still has a full week before he has to go back to work.

When he heads back inside a half-hour later and picks up his phone, he has two new text messages:

_Tino [7:33AM]  
HALLOWEEN IS TOMORROW IM SO EXCITED. also you better hurry up and get some candy dude_

_Aaron [7:58PM]  
Do you want coral or lavender for your drapes??_

In the frantic hassle of moving, Austin had almost completely forgotten about Halloween. _Shit._

Without further ado, he grabs his keys and flies out the door, purposely choosing to ignore the second text message.

 

\+ + +

 

Alan hears the front door of the house slamming shut.

After a few minutes of unbroken silence, he decides it's safe to try and move; his legs are stiff and ungainly like those of a newborn colt, and it takes him a solid ten minutes to clumsily stumble to his feet.

There's a flicker, not unlike a blink, and then suddenly Alan is standing downstairs.

 _It's changed_ , is his first thought, and then he immediately feels dumb because _of course it has, you idiot._

 

The bloodstains have been painted over, for one.

 

\+ + +

 

Austin gets back to the house with a box full of Kit-Kats and massive bag of Jolly Ranchers under one arm (he'll go back for the pumpkin later), only taking a minute to fiddle with the lock before stepping inside to find his jacket spread out on the floor in the living room.

He definitely doesn't remember leaving it there, but shrugs it off nonetheless, carrying his sugary bounty into the kitchen and dropping it onto the counter beside an... open calendar.

_Huh._

Austin frowns, narrowing his eyes, but eventually dismisses it to a matter of personal forgetfulness and being more tired than he initially thought.

 

\+ + +

 

Alan finds out that the year is 2015.

He finds out the man's name is Austin Carlile.

He also finds out that he's a scientific laboratory technician, that he's 24 - three years older than Alan himself - and that he likes to dance (can you call that dancing?) along to Lana Del Ray while carving (somewhat questionable) pumpkins.

At that moment, Austin shakes his hips as he scoops out a massive ladleful of the pumpkin's guts with a loud exclamation of disgust. Alan almost bursts out into laughter from where he's perched on the kitchen counter, but instead restrains himself to a snort and a quiet chuckle that makes Austin look around with a puzzled expression - he may not be able to see Alan yet, but he can definitely hear him.

It's a good enough start as any.

 

\+ + +

 

As embarrassing as it might be, Austin is _excited_ for Halloween.

He spends the whole first half of the next day unpacking his clothes and books and CDs (and attempting to assemble the bed but giving up and just dragging the mattress in), but dedicates the evening to revelling in holiday spirit - christening his new kitchen by baking bat-shaped cookies (which he eats a whole batch of), setting up his speakers, creating the perfect Halloween playlist, pouring the bowls of candy (which he eats most of, and then refills) and, finally, lighting the candles inside the three pumpkins sitting on his front stoop.

There's only one problem:

No one will come to the door.

Regardless of the fact that his lights are on and there are Jack-o-lanterns on the steps, from the hours of six to seven o'clock, Austin watches with dismay and disappointment as every single trick-or-treater skips by his house. Some of them point at it and giggle or shove each other, a few even going so far as to speed up or even cross the street. He wonders if it's something he did, or if the neighbourhood kids are just extremely wary of new neighbours; either way, it makes him feel a little bit sad.

It comes as a pleasant surprise when his doorbell rings at eight-thirty, and Austin opens the door with a smile to see three wide-eyed teenagers staring back at him.

"Hi," he says uncertainly after a moment of silence, holding out the bowls of candy, "No one seems to be coming by, so you can just take all the candy you want."

"Is it true?" one of the kids - a hyper-looking girl dressed as a vampire - blurts out, looking hopefully up at him.

"Um, what?"

"You know," she continues, tone hushed, " _The Fallholt Massacre_."

" _What?_ " Austin repeats, taken aback, "I just moved in two days ago, I really have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really?" the boys in a robot costume asks, "But how can you not know? You're living in _the house!_ "

"The house?" Austin echoes, puzzled.

The other boy rolls his eyes. "The Massacre House, duh. Haven't you heard the stories?"

"The... Stories? No, no I haven't."

The three exchange a meaningful look, and then the girl looks him in the eye and says with relish, "Twenty years ago, a family was murdered here."

Austin blanches. "Wait, are you _serious_?"

All three nod. "On Christmas Eve, the youngest of three children got up and killed his parents, sister and brother in their sleep," Robot-Boy pipes up.

"With a hatchet!" the girl excitedly adds.

The other boy shrugs. "I heard it was a gun," he offers.

"Oh my god," Austin mutters, running a hand through his hair with a groan, "Oh my _god_. I _knew_ there was a reason I got the house so cheap."

"So, have you seen any ghosts yet?" the girl continues eagerly, lowering her voice. "Because they caught the guy who did it and cremated the rest of the bodies, but the older brother was never found."

Austin lets out an exasperated sigh, but his mind races back to the prickling feeling and the phantom laughter earlier that afternoon. "No ghosts yet, sorry," he eventually says with a small shrug, much to the apparent disappointment of the teens. "Help yourselves to candy, though, you can have as much as you like."

And with that, he hands them the bowls, closes the door, and rushes to the bathroom to throw up.

 

\+ + +

 

 _Poor guy_ , Alan thinks, hovering concernedly outside the bathroom door. 

_He must have had a pretty shitty realtor._

 

\+ + +

 

 

Needless to say, it takes Austin a very long time to get to sleep that night.

 

 

\+ + +

 

When Alan sits at his usual spot against the wall and watches Austin wake up the next morning, something changes.

That 'something' being that they lock eyes and Austin sits up, scrambling backwards and shouting, "What the fuck?! Who are you? why the fuck are you in my house?!"

"You can see me?" Alan asks, dumbfounded.

"Yes, I can see you! How did you get in?!"

"I live here," Alan says simply. "Or I _did_ , anyways. My name is Alan."

Austin's eyes go impossibly wider, and then there's a tiny flicker of recognition. "Oh my god," he mumbles, face devoid of colour. "Oh god. Holy shit. You're a motherfucking ghost, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Alan shrugs. "I mean I'm dead, and I'm still here, so I guess I probably am."

"Oh my god," Austin repeats, "You're the older brother."

Alan says, "Sure am," and Austin states at him for a long pause before stumbling to his feet and bolting downstairs. 

Alan gives him a few minutes to collect himself before reappearing downstairs, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter with a quiet "Hey."

"Stay away from me!" Austin yells, grabbing a knife from the block and backing himself into the corner of the kitchen with a panicked expression.

Alan rolls his eyes, trying not to feel wounded. "Relax. I'm not gonna hurt you, Austin," he says, holding his hands up in a show of _see? just a short ginger, totally not scary in the slightest._

Austin doesn't move. "Have you been around this whole time?" he accuses. "Have you been _watching_ me?!"

"Duh," Alan shrugs. "Wouldn't you, if you were invisible?"

There's a pause, and he sees Austin falter. "Holy fuck," he mumbles. "This is actually happening. There's an invisible dead person walking around in my house and spying on me."

"Yep," Alan says after a moment. "It wasn't really _spying_ , though. You just couldn't see me. And it wasn't like I was following you into the shower, or anything."

Austin runs a hand over his face, then drops the knife on the counter with a quiet clatter. 

"I need coffee for this."

 

\+ + +

 

"So, let me get this straight. You died in nineteen ninety-five?"

"Yep. Christmas Eve."

"And you've just been, what, wandering around for twenty years since then?"

"I don't know. I don't really remember anything except waking up in the bedroom and hearing you and your friends downstairs."

"But you remember dying?"

"Clear as a bell."

"Fuck, man."

"Yeah, I know. It pretty much sucked. Definitely not one of my top ten favourite family moments."

Austin takes a long sip of coffee, looking at the ghost sitting across from him at the dining table. He's definitely not drunk enough for this. "So it's true, then?" he asks after a pause, "What those kids told me?"

Alan cocks his head. "More or less. They got some of the details wrong, though." He looks down at his lap. When he speaks, his voice is soft and shaky. "He used my dad's hunting knife, for one. And I wasn't asleep." 

With a shock, Austin realizes Alan is crying. 

"I tried to get him to stop," Alan continues, shaking his head. "I ran in and tried to save her, but he just-- He just turned around and _stabbed_ me, over and over and over. There was blood everywhere and I couldn't move but I could feel myself choking, you know that? It was like I was drowning," he finally cuts off with a broken sob. "They never even found my body."

Without thinking, Austin finds himself instinctively reaching out across the table to touch Alan's hand; he finds himself surprised when his fingers make contact with what feels like solid skin.

Alan's head snaps up, clearly startled as well. "You're touching me," he sniffs, letting out a faint laugh of disbelief. "Oh my god, you're touching me."

"Yeah," Austin says, because he doesn't know what else to do. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Alan uses his other hand to rub at his eyes. When he speaks again, his voice is small. "I'm so tired, Austin."

"Is there something I can do to help?" Austin asks, pained. "What if I called one of those psychic people, you know, like the ones who talk to ghosts on TV? Or a priest, or something?"

Miserably, Alan shrugs. "Maybe. I have no idea." He sighs. "I just feel so _alone_ all the time. I can't sleep, or eat or even leave the house. You're the first person I've talked to in twenty years."

"It's okay," Austin says after another pause, even though it's really, really not. "Um. I'll do a bunch of research, and we'll eventually figure something out, alright? You'll be moving on to the afterlife in no time."

Alan sniffs again, his mouth curving into a small smile. He knows it's far-fetched, but the optimism is appreciated anyway. "Thanks.

 

\+ + +

 

A year passes.

 

They don't find any useful information, and Alan is still in the house.

 

Then:

Two.

 

 

It's not so bad.

 

 

Then:

Three.

 

 

 

 

Then:

Happiness.

 

 

+

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, and feel free to drop me a comment down below! (hint hint)


End file.
